


Every Blessed Thing

by achray



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: First Time, Invisibility, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 19:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achray/pseuds/achray
Summary: “I’m invisible!” said Quentin.





	Every Blessed Thing

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to [greywash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash) for making this way more coherent and far, far better than it would otherwise have been. 
> 
> Some warnings here for the kind of dubious behaviour that might be expected to go with being very invisible and very upset. 
> 
> Title from H. G. Wells, _The Invisible Man_ :  
> "An Invisible Man!" said Mr. Marvel. "And what 's _he_ been up to?"  
> "Everything," said the mariner, controlling Marvel with his eye, and then amplifying:  
> "Every Blessed Thing."

Quentin wandered through the library stacks, looking for Alice.  He’d slept in his own room last night, and this morning she hadn’t been around. Possibly on purpose. They’d had a really stupid, pointless argument: Alice had been studying, and he’d thought he’d try to distract her, make her laugh, make her at least _pay attention_ to him and, ideally, let herself be distracted into bed. It hadn’t worked. And it _would_ have worked, maybe a month or so ago, probably. So they had a test today – there were _always_ tests, and Alice always got an A – if she couldn’t even risk her perfect grades to spend time with her boyfriend, then –

He’d been walking past an ornately carved door, not really noticing it, when it blew a bit open, taking him by surprise. Golden light shone through it, and there was a faint noise of birdsong. A small breeze, of cool air scented with pine, curled round Quentin.

Fillory, thought Quentin, his heart lifting, beating harder. An adventure, an escape, a story unfolding. He opened the door cautiously, looking through into a perfect forest scene, moss and green-gold light, leaves fluttering. There was movement under the trees, leaves rustling about a foot off the ground, as something came towards him. He took a deep breath, expectant.

**

“Have you seen Quentin today? Or yesterday?” Eliot said. It was cocktail hour: he was experimenting with vodka and black pepper, seeing if he could get tiny dots of pepper to swirl through a shot and remain suspended by magical means.

“Uh-uh,” said Margo. “Though speaking of Q, I hear he and Alice are on the rocks. Maybe for real this time. Still working on that plan to heal his broken heart with your magical cock?”

“You wound me,” said Eliot. “So spill – what exactly did you hear, and who from?”

“Alice,” said Margo smugly. “Girl talk, you know. Her _exact_ word about your little floppy-haired obsession was ‘impossible’. I know you like a challenge though, so… ”

“Hmm. Did it sound, like, serious? I mean, searching all the bathrooms and checking the drug cabinet serious? Because _I_ hear that Quentin wasn’t in class and that no-one’s seen him since breakfast yesterday. He hasn’t been in his room.”

“Which you were checking because…?” said Margo.

“Here,” said Eliot, cutting her off hastily. “Try the seasoning on this one.”

He did take a walk round campus, later on, though. Quentin and Alice were always fighting at the moment, it was hard not to notice. For two quite small people who studied most of the time, they managed to produce an extraordinary amount of drama. Remembering whether they were on or off was tiring, and Quentin’s perpetual kicked-puppy look made Eliot want to take him straight to his bed, give him his best approximation of a back massage until all his muscles were smoothed out, and then coax him to turn over, and –

He sighed, stopping to light a cigarette. Best to save those particular thoughts for later, perhaps. It was so _frustrating_ , not to be able to show Quentin how easy sex could be; he and Alice never really seemed to be having much _fun_. 

It didn’t seem all that likely that Quentin would have gone off and done something stupid, not really, but he still wandered round the woods, and the classrooms, and every carrel in the library. Nothing. Eventually he gave up and went back towards the cottage, frowning. With anyone else, he would have assumed they’d hooked up, or they were getting high with other friends somewhere. This didn’t seem very likely, though. Could Quentin have decided to leave campus? Where would he _go_? Eliot could think of at least six bars, or indeed former lovers’ apartments, where he might have gone himself, but on Quentin, he had nothing.

By the time he got back, it was late; the lights were still on, but everyone had clearly headed to bed. He wandered around, vaguely looking for Margo’s copy of _Vogue_.

There was a cough behind him, someone purposefully clearing his throat. Eliot whirled round: he knew that cough.

“Quentin?” he said, narrowing his eyes. There was no-one there.

“Over here, “ said Quentin’s voice. An empty coffee mug lifted itself from the table and waggled in the air.

“Shit,” said Eliot. He swallowed. “Are you – tell me you’re not a ghost.” Maybe Q really _had_ been that upset over Alice -

“I’m invisible!” said Quentin. He sounded pleased with himself.

“Oh, thank fuck,” said Eliot. His legs felt shaky. He sat down carefully on the sofa.

“It was kind of amazing,” said Quentin’s voice from mid-air. “I met the Unseen Monitor!”

“Mmm,” said Eliot. “And what the fuck is that, exactly?”

“It’s one of the _Unique Beasts_ ,” said Quentin, reverently, “From _Fillory_.” The mug waved in the air as he gestured. “A portal opened in the library and I went through, and it was like he was _waiting_ for me. They’re genuinely real, can you imagine? He’s, like, a really huge white lizard, but not scary, you could tell that he was good – ”

“Q,” said Eliot. “Skip the fanboy stuff and get to the bit where I _can’t see you_.”

“Oh,” said Quentin. “That’s what he does. He grants invisibility. If you ask.”

Eliot took a couple of deep breaths. “I see,” he said. “You asked a magical otherworldly creature to grant you invisibility and he – it? – did. Indefinitely? I’m just curious.”

“Em,” said Quentin. The mug set itself down, or he set it down, this was confusing. Eliot was almost certain that Quentin was nervously running his hands through his hair.

“The books aren’t entirely clear on that point,” Quentin said. “No-one ever does turn invisible in them. When they mention the lizard they kind of say he grants invisibility for a year.”

“A _year_?” said Eliot, sitting up.

“Maybe more like, _up to_ a year. Like, a year maximum. I thought it might have worn off by now, but…”

“I see. So today and yesterday, you’ve been – ” Eliot waved a hand. “Lurking? Hanging out? Stalking Alice? Creepy, Q.” He tried to recall exactly what he’d said to Margo about Quentin.

“I was getting used to it,” said Quentin, defensively. “It’s weird. I couldn’t even walk properly at first, I kept tripping over my feet. And I was trying out some spells, see what happened.”

Eliot surveyed the space where Quentin probably was. “You are wearing clothes, aren’t you?”

“Hey. Yes, of course. They turned invisible too, though you can see them if I take them off. I did a ton of experiments. Anything inanimate I touch for more than a minute starts turning invisible, as long as it’s fairly small – look.”

Quentin picked up the mug again. Eliot watched it, thinking. Quentin hadn’t lied: after about thirty seconds the outline of the mug started to fade, the room faintly visible through it, by around a minute it had completely gone.

There was a sound, and the mug became visible again, set down on the side table.

“Very nifty,” said Eliot. “Quentin. I don’t want to burst your bubble here. But invisibility is usually considered – very fucking problematic for the invisible person. As in, my extensive experience of popular culture suggests that it’s not usually recommended for peak mental health. And didn’t you get that lecture from Fogg in your first week?”

“Yeah, but that was about how dangerous it was to _try._ Because people do try, right? Because every magician wants to know what this is like. I mean, I could write this down, keep notes…”

Eliot resisted the urge to clutch his hair in frustration.

“Which would all be great,” he said. “If you knew how to make it stop. Except that it kind of sounds like you don’t.”

He could almost hear Quentin shrugging. “It’s Fillory,” he said. “It will work out.”

“Oh God,” said Eliot, rubbing his forehead. “I need another drink.”

Quentin sighed, very audibly. “I guess I need to go and talk to Alice. Could you – I mean – I know you’ll tell Margo – ”

“About ten seconds after this conversation ends, yes.”

“I don’t want Penny and Kady and everyone to know, though. They might – laugh.”

“Agreed,” said Eliot. They would _definitely_ laugh. “Look, be careful with this, Q. Can you maybe try to – think your way out of it? Find a spell to reverse it?”

“I’ll talk to Alice,” said Quentin. “She might know. And she’ll have been worried.”

“Sure,” said Eliot. Alice hadn’t seemed especially worried, but who was he to judge. “Go get her, I guess. Let’s work something out tomorrow, if you’re still…?”  He gestured in a way that hopefully encompassed Quentin. Maybe if he and Alice worked things out, sex would fix Quentin, or true love’s kiss or something. It was surprising and depressing how many spells did still work that way.

“Night, Eliot,” said Quentin. “And – thanks, I guess.”

 Eliot waited until he’d heard Quentin’s feet going up the stairs, before he followed, snagging the remainder of the vodka on the way, and heading straight for Margo’s room.

**

A door slammed, upstairs. Eliot glanced up, from where he was sitting in the window seat, smoking and pretending to read a textbook while keeping an eye out for invisible Quentin or other disasters. It was afternoon already, and there’d been no sign of Quentin all morning.

“Alice – ” said Quentin’s voice, loudly and pleadingly.

“I said _no_ ,” said Alice, with surprising force. “This was a really _stupid_ thing for you to do, you’re so fucking _irresponsible_ sometimes, _and_ I don’t even know if I want this whole – _relationship_ any more – so just – stay away from me!”

By the end of this declaration she was at the top of the stairs and practically shouting. She ran down them, opened the cottage door without even looking round, and disappeared.

Eliot winced. There weren’t all that many students in the room, but there were a few, and they were all staring after Alice, gaping like fish. He glowered round the room reprovingly, put down his book and went cautiously up the stairs, expecting to crash into Quentin at any moment. He stopped when he could see the landing.

“Umm,” he said, quietly. “Q? You here?” The others were whispering downstairs, someone giggled.

“Just – don’t,” said Quentin’s voice. “I can’t right now. God, I’m so fucking– ” There was a loud thudding noise. One of the old school photographs fell off the wall.

“Are you _punching_ the _wall_?” said Eliot. “Q – stop.”

“I’m going after her,” said Quentin, audibly breathing hard.

“Is that really – ” said Eliot. Something pushed past him, pushed him, in fact, he had to clutch at the banister to stay upright – and the downstairs door opened and then slammed shut. 

“A good idea?” Eliot finished. Shit.

**

Alice was walking back from the library with a pile of books almost as tall as her head when he caught up with her. He took an armful and walked beside her. Her eyes were red, and she didn’t look like she’d got much sleep.

“About Quentin,” he said. He looked around, pointlessly.

Alice sniffed. “I can’t _believe_ he did this.”

“Yes, agreed,” said Eliot. “Tell me you have a plan.”

“We were up nearly all night in the library, working on it,” said Alice, also glancing around. “But we didn’t find anything.  Quentin is – I don’t know if he _wants_ help.”

“He seemed…upset. Just now.”

“I can’t talk to him when he’s like this. He came to the library just now and he – he was shouting all this stuff _and_ he threw one of the books at the window. He was lucky it didn’t set off the _alarms_.  I told him if he did it again I’d go to Fogg and I think he – stormed off.”

“OK,” said Eliot. “This is not good. Do you know where he went?”

Alice shook her head, mouth set. “He could be anywhere,” she said. “I’m going to skip class and study in my room.”

“Maybe best,” said Eliot. “Call me if he shows up, yes? Or if you find something good. Margo knows too, if you can’t reach me. Here,” he transferred the books back to her, carefully. “The faculty are going to start looking for him soon, I’m going to go to class and spread the word that he has – I don’t know, flu or something.”

“Thanks,” said Alice. She looked around again. “It’s so weird, he could be anywhere.”

“Mmm,” said Eliot.

He thought about suggesting he escorted her to her room, but that might be – taking things too far. He went on to class instead, keeping an eye open for anything strange. Alice was right, it was distracting, wondering if Quentin might be watching him. He was almost certain Quentin did watch him, when he wasn’t looking; he’d caught Quentin turning away too many times, lifted his own eyes to find Quentin’s there. He wasn’t entirely sure Quentin knew he was doing it. It tended to make this whole little – thing, this thing where he thought a lot about the sounds Quentin might make with his cock in Eliot’s mouth, that much harder.

**

There was no sign of Quentin all the rest of that day, however, no matter how alert Eliot was. He must have been lying low, which was in itself suspicious. It wasn’t until Eliot was heading towards his room, late in the evening, that he heard something unusual, a sound like a muffled shout coming from Alice’s room. It wasn’t considered etiquette to mess with other people’s silencing charms, so he’d never cast the spell, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know it. It wasn’t hard: he ran through it quickly on his way to his room, purely to check in.

“Stop it!” Alice was saying, in a tone almost unrecognizable. “You need to _leave_.”

Eliot turned and ran. His fingers moved as he did, neatly, and Alice’s door crashed open. Alice was on the bed, hair dishevelled, in her pyjamas, fire sparking at her fingertips, both hands out pushing at something.

Eliot grabbed where she was pushing and seized hold of a solid armful of Quentin. He got an elbow in his face and nearly a knee to the groin before he managed to work out what body parts he was holding, get his arms round Quentin’s chest, pin him, and heave him backwards. Quentin was fighting him, breath coming fast, trying to twist, but Eliot was taller and stronger. He braced himself, holding on.

“Are you OK?” he said to Alice, urgently.

“Yes,” said Alice. She didn’t look upset. She looked furious. “I can take care of _myself_.”

“Believe me, I know,” said Eliot. “But I’d personally prefer it if both you and Q were both in one piece afterwards.”

Quentin stopped struggling. He was breathing hard, back to Eliot’s chest.

Alice’s face did something complicated. “He didn’t _say_ anything,” she said. “He came in and sat down beside me and tried to kiss me.” She looked at the space in between Eliot’s arms and her expression hardened. “Touch me again while you’re like this and see what happens,” she said. “I told you to leave me alone and I meant it. Get out.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“I’ll take him out,” he said. “If I let go I don’t know where he’ll go. You can ward your room, right?”

“I don’t need _wards_ ,” said Quentin. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her! I wanted to _talk_. You can’t throw me out like I’m the fucking trash.”

“Watch me, Coldwater,” said Eliot.  “Come willingly or I’ll knock you out and chain you to my bed, your choice.”

“Fine,” said Quentin, though it was really more of a snarl. Eliot loosened his grip, and Quentin immediately tried to lurch free. Eliot caught him by one arm, muttering charms under his breath, and felt the moment when Quentin realised his legs were folding under him.

It was a temporary spell, designed to incapacitate someone for a few moments, and it only worked erratically. Eliot wrapped an arm round Quentin’s shoulders, leaning him against him. Quentin was cursing, fluently and quietly.

“I don’t think he’s himself,” said Alice, unnecessarily.

“No shit,” said Eliot, staggering slightly. “Later?” He manhandled Quentin towards the door.

Alice’s hands were already moving in a complex motion, and she was murmuring something under her breath in another language  - she wasn’t Eliot’s type in any way, but her casting was seriously hot – and she tilted her head, barely acknowledging him.

Eliot managed to get Quentin up to Eliot’s room by main force, worried the whole time that the spell would wear off. He kicked the door shut behind him with relief, threw a spell at it to keep it shut, and flicked on a lamp. Then he let Quentin go, cautiously.

“I need to talk to _Alice_ ,” said Quentin. He tried to punch Eliot, luckily so badly that he telegraphed it even while invisible, and Eliot blocked it.

“Let me think,” said Eliot. “No. She was telling you to stop and you weren’t. This is not fucking OK.”

He very rarely went full-on serious, and so it usually had an effect. He was beginning to worry Quentin was beyond the ability to hear him, though.

“Fucking interfering,” said Quentin. “She’s _my_ girlfriend.”

“Jesus wept,” said Eliot. “I’d say that right now she’s your  _ex_ -girlfriend, Q, and if you haven’t realised that yet – “

This time Quentin’s punch did catch him in the stomach. It was pretty feeble. What was a lot more worrying than being punched was the fact that Quentin didn’t immediately start apologizing for it.

“Try to hit me all you want,” said Eliot. His patience was starting to fray. “I meant it about tying you to the bed.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” said Quentin, viciously.

Eliot blinked. “Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

Quentin shoved him in the chest, which he hadn’t quite anticipated, and he staggered backwards a step, into the chest of drawers. He straightened himself up, so that he might be said to be lounging, deliberately, and raised an eyebrow in Quentin’s direction, ignoring all the voices of reason telling him that it was a bad idea, that Quentin was clearly having some kind of invisibility-related meltdown and maybe he should hit him with a sleep spell, lock him in the closet and call Fogg.

“You’re always _staring_ at me, and saying stuff, and – ” Quentin said.

“And you’re always staring _back_. So what are you going to do about it?”

“You – " said Quentin, choked, and suddenly he was right up against Eliot, pressed against him, grabbing Eliot’s hair painfully and pulling him down into a kiss.

Eliot had expected Quentin to try to hit him some more. He hadn’t quite got farther than that. He was taken aback, but not for long. Invisibility was easy to deal with if you just closed your eyes: with his eyes shut he was kissing Quentin, hot and familiar, as he’d wanted to do for months.

He’d imagined kissing Quentin a lot, and usually in those fantasies Eliot was entirely in control, coaxing Quentin to melt under him with his amazing kissing skills, or whatever. This was not like that. Though it was possible that _Eliot_ was melting: Quentin’s thigh was solidly between his legs, and he was kissing Eliot with all the right skill and determination and possibly sheer rage, bruisingly hard. Eliot’s scalp hurt where Quentin was still tugging on it, it felt sharply good. He slid a hand round to cup Quentin’s neck and pull him in closer, breaking off for a moment to breathe.

“I’m going to fuck you,” said Quentin, with absolute determination.

“God, yes,” said Eliot, without having to think about it.

Quentin stopped kissing him and started unbuttoning his vest. Eliot made the mistake of opening his eyes, to help Quentin out of his clothes, and then hastily shut them again. It was beyond weird to see only an empty room, while feeling Quentin’s hands on him, his body pressed hard against his; Eliot’s buttons undoing themselves, faster than should have been possible without magic. He reached out for Quentin’s chest and clumsily pushed at his T-shirt, felt a cardigan – God, what monstrosity had Quentin been wearing? – and tried to shove it off Quentin’s shoulders. There was a confused tussle, before Eliot gave up and let Quentin push Eliot’s shirt off.

Quentin pulled away and Eliot stood up. A cardigan and then a T-shirt flew through the air, one landing on Eliot’s desk. There were more sounds, and a pair of jeans appeared, clearly kicked away by Quentin.

“All right,” said Eliot. They were really doing this. Maybe the circumstances were less than ideal, but perhaps it would help Quentin to - to? Oh, fuck it, Eliot thought.  No point in second-guessing. It seemed unreasonable that Quentin was right there, somewhere in front of him, getting naked, and that he couldn’t see it. He took the rest of his own clothes off as quickly as possible.

It also seemed unreasonable that he couldn’t see Quentin’s response, whether he liked what he was seeing or not. It was hot, though, when he was standing there, nude, nearly all the way hard, knowing that Quentin was watching him, yet unable to tell what he was doing. He breathed hard, running a hand down his chest to stroke his cock, lightly.

“Where are you?” he said.

“Here,” said Quentin, unexpectedly close, and his hands slid down Eliot’s arms; Eliot swayed forwards in surprise, and then clumsily found Quentin’s hair, his face, and his mouth, and kissed him again, making a sound of satisfaction at the feel of Quentin’s skin against his.

He was about to slide to his knees – he might not be able to see Quentin’s cock, but he was sure he could work things out by feel – when Quentin pulled at him, not gently, and shoved him towards the bed. Eliot fell backwards onto it, his eyes opening. Quentin was above him: he straddled Eliot and Eliot gasped at the feeling of Quentin’s cock, dragging against him, trying to lift into it.

Quentin kissed his mouth, hard, and then began to move down, sucking at his neck. Eliot arched under him, gripping Quentin’s hair, his warm back. In his wildest dreams, which were pretty wild, he’d never imagined Quentin being this aggressive. Invisibility clearly had its advantages. Though his conscience was setting up a vague, nagging protest.

 “Isn’t this – morally questionable – ” he said, as Quentin worked his way down his chest, stopping to tease his nipple. “I mean – oh, keep doing that – you clearly aren’t in your right mind, and – “

Quentin bit him, which was evidence that Eliot was right, except that Eliot couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence to explain this.

“How about you stop talking,” said Quentin.

Eliot opened his mouth on the obvious retort, and then broke off on a moan, both because Quentin had his clever fingers round Eliot’s cock, and because maybe Quentin _would_ make him – oh God, maybe if he said anything Quentin would shove his cock down Eliot’s throat – Christ, Eliot wanted that –

“Do you have any - ?” said Quentin, a number of very heated moments later.

“Yes, I – ” said Eliot. “Lucier’s Unguent, bedside drawer, you need the spell – ”

“What spell?” said Quentin. Eliot opened his eyes and looked sideways, the right drawer was open and Quentin had found the bottle, dancing in the air.

Eliot would have said something sardonic, along the lines that everyone else had learned this in their first week, but Quentin’s other hand was stroking him, a little rough but extremely good, and he felt very invested in the idea of Quentin getting inside him as fast as possible with as much assistance as possible.

He said the words and the bottle glowed, gently. For good measure he flicked the lamp out, too. In the darkness it was less odd not to be able to see Quentin, simply to feel him, pushing Eliot’s thighs apart, trailing warm fingers over him.

Thank you, Lucier, whoever the fuck you are, Eliot thought. He would have been busy being astonished that Quentin genuinely seemed to know what he was doing, if Quentin’s fingers, inside him, moving just right, hadn’t been driving him fucking insane. This whole _situation_ was insane. Eliot would have wondered if the invisible person taking him apart with such skill was someone else faking it as Quentin Coldwater, except that he recognized Quentin’s scent, the size and shape and weight of him, the sound of his breathing, even.

“OK,” said Quentin, sounding ragged, though Eliot hadn’t even managed to _touch_ him, “I’m going to – ”

He shifted Eliot’s leg and started pressing into him, steadily. Eliot tipped his head back and clutched at Quentin’s shoulder, breath coming hard; it felt great. It had been a long time, too long, really, at least a couple of months, since he’d let anyone fuck him. It was right on the edge of being painful, in a good way. He hadn’t _seen_ Quentin’s cock, he thought, wildly, it was inside him and he hadn’t even –  Quentin started moving, with a level of confidence that Eliot hadn’t – that he – and then he stopped thinking altogether.

**

Eliot blinked in the darkness, chest still heaving. He was sweating, and possibly shaking slightly. His skin felt like it was buzzing. He wondered if Quentin would stay, if they could do it again, let Eliot regain some ground. He’d been at a decided disadvantage, and hadn’t really had the opportunity to show off his moves properly: it had all been too – surprising. Quentin had rolled off him. Eliot reached out and stroked part of him.

“Well,” he said. “That, umm.”

“Fuck,” said Quentin. “Fuck, fuck. I should go.“ He rolled away, leaving Eliot groping at empty air.

“What?” said Eliot. “No, bad idea, definitely not.“ He struggled to sit up, reaching out to find empty air. He could hear Quentin moving, across the dark room. He’d locked the door – had he? Shit, he’d been supposed to be – guarding Q. Counselling him. Or something.

“Quentin? Q? I really think we should talk about - ”

Quentin’s jeans and T-shirt swung into the air, and the door sprang open. Useless fucking spell. Then it shut, as someone invisible slid out of it and away.

So much for the afterglow. Eliot flopped back down on his bed and groaned.

**

He knocked on the door of Margo’s room and then opened it without bothering to wait for an answer. Margo was on the bed, painting her toenails. He closed the door and leaned against it. He was only wearing a robe, as it had kind of been an emergency, but it was mostly fastened. He’d checked the bedroom floors as much as he could before calling on Margo. Alice’s wards were fierce, and undisturbed.

“What the fuck?” Margo said, looking him up and down.

“Emergency,” said Eliot. “I need to collapse on your bed. Dramatically.”

“Yeah, that’s an unnecessary qualifier if I ever heard one,” said Margo. She screwed the cap on the nail polish, looked at her toes, and patted the bed.

Eliot collapsed dramatically onto the bed, bearing in mind not to disturb Margo’s feet too much, and ending up with his head on her lap.

“Also, I need a stiff drink or five.”

“Sit up first,” said Margo. “I can’t reach anything from here.”

Eliot made a pathetic sound.

“What the fuck happened to you anyway?” said Margo. “Or _who_ happened? You look very – remember that time on Ibiza with the Russians?”

“Mmm,” said Eliot. They’d been very athletic, those Russians.

“Well?” said Margo.

“Invisible Quentin Coldwater fucked me through the mattress,” said Eliot.

“Get _out_ ,” said Margo. “No fucking way.”

“Exactly what I would have said,” said Eliot. “Turns out, our sweet Quentin has a whole load of, hmm, disaster bisexual angst to work through, let’s say. He’s very – pissed. Upset about stuff. And that translates into…” He gestured at his state of disarray and collapse.

“Shit,” said Margo. She sounded grudgingly impressed. “What about Alice?”

“Alice objects to fucking the Invisible Man,” said Eliot.

“And you don’t, because you’re so desperate to fuck that boy you’ll take him any way he wants,” said Margo.

“Harsh,” said Eliot, closing his eyes. “But not untrue. He ran off straight after. He’s not _in_ here, is he? The door’s been shut this whole time?”

“Not unless he came in plastered to your ass,” said Margo. “Which doesn’t seem unlikely from what I’m hearing.”

Eliot yawned. “Christ. This is a total trainwreck. Cigarette? I left half a pack under your pillow.”

“I know,” said Margo. She reached back carefully and extracted them, passing one to Eliot and keeping one for herself. She flicked her fingers and they lit. Eliot took a long drag, gratefully.

“I’m seriously worried about him, though,” he said. “Quentin. First he was punching things and throwing shit around and _harassing_ Alice and then – ” He waved a hand towards himself. “I mean, this isn’t what I’d call _characteristic_. You know all that stuff about what invisibility can do to you?”

“You mean the 5-minute first-year lecture on, don’t do it even if you could?”

“God, no,” said Eliot. “I mean, early season Buffy, what was it – “

“You mean _late_ season Buffy,” said Margo. “When she fucks Spike.”

“No,” said Eliot. “I mean, yes, that wasn’t the one I was thinking of, and also, not flattering, but I see your point. I mean the one where some girl turns invisible and gets recruited by the FBI.”

Margo shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Eliot, gesturing with his cigarette. “Point being, _everyone_ knows that if you stay invisible for long enough, you’re all id. Angry, violent, lost. If Q’s not off setting stuff on fire or trying to break in to Alice’s room, he’s probably in a corner right now drowning in self-loathing. I did _try_ to warn him.”

“He should be fucking _grateful_ he got to fuck you,” said Margo. “He should be throwing a fucking party.” She gestured and an ashtray whizzed over to the bed: she dropped ash into it neatly, and pushed it towards Eliot.

“True,” said Eliot. “However. Knowing our Q, let’s say that in his right mind he might have seen his behaviour tonight as – setting off alarm bells.”

“Uh-huh,” said Margo. “El. Do I need to have a talk with him?”

“No,” said Eliot. “Not on my behalf, anyway. Believe me when I say that my top ten fantasies of sex with Quentin Coldwater couldn’t have lived up to the last hour. He might be fine, he didn’t stick around afterwards for me to check, I’m just – pretty sure that he might _not_ be fine, in a variety of different ways. In which case, what are we going to do about it?”

“You mean, to make him visible? Visibilize? De-invisibilize?”

“We looked for invisibility stuff in the library after that lecture, remember? There’s nothing there.” He took another drag. “That wasn’t a pun. And Alice has been on this for nearly twenty-four hours already.”

“Perhaps it’s time to tell the faculty,“ said Margo.

“They might help,” said Eliot. “And then they’ll expel him. I mean, I’m finding it fucking hard to believe that a giant lizard from a work of classic children’s lit caused this mess, what do you think Fogg would say about it? And if they come looking for him he’s not going to wait to see if it’s OK, he could, like, fucking run off to the city and we’d never find him again.”

Margo stroked his hair soothingly. “You really like this one, huh.”

Eliot groaned. “I’m fucked, aren’t I,” he said.

“Every way, baby,” said Margo. “How about I check in with Alice.”

“Yeah,” said Eliot. “She said she was working on it earlier. She’s got to have _something_.” He heaved himself up, wincing a little, and stubbed out the cigarette. “Not a good idea for me to see her in this state, though. I’m going to shower, put on some pants, and find Kady. I’m thinking, battle magic and hedge witches, can’t hurt. Meet in the lounge with wine, one hour?”

“Done,” said Margo.

**

Kady and Penny were first sceptical, then entertained. Eliot tried to convince them that the situation was serious, but it was difficult.

“A fucking _lizard_?” said Penny, for the third time, shaking his head.

“Would you make up a story like that?” said Eliot, pouring himself a very large second glass.

“No, but I’m not a fucking nerd,” said Penny.

“Was he the one that set the cafeteria on fire this afternoon?” said Kady.

“The cafeteria was on fire?”

“Like, a small fire,” said Kady. “Everyone thought it was a first-year. They shut down for about an hour and then re-opened.”

“Great,” said Eliot. “Yes, might have been. Do you know if the hedges have anything on this?”

“On Fillory?” said Kady. She was slumped on the sofa, legs over Penny’s lap. “Nope. Invisibility? Yeah, it’s been tried. Never seen it work, though.”

Eliot looked up. Margo and Alice were coming down the stairs. Margo pursed her lips at him.

“Wine, Alice?” said Eliot.

“No thank you,” said Alice, tucking back her hair. She sat down in an armchair, back straight. Eliot looked pleadingly at Margo and she came and sat down next to him, patting his knee; he passed her the bottle.

“Alice thinks the problem is, like, psychological,” said Margo. “Or philosophical. I want to be invisible, therefore I am.”

“I’ve read everything I can find,” said Alice. “You can’t magic yourself invisible. _Everyone_ tried, from at least the Egyptians onwards. Quentin told me it was a wish being granted, by a magical being, so I researched those too. There’s a lot of – contradictory evidence. But the wishes do usually wear off, or people learn to live with them.”

“Quentin said with this, quote ‘Unseen Monitor’ unquote thing, he could be invisible for a _year_ , did he tell you that?” Eliot said.

Margo choked on her drink. “Fuck me,” she said. “If this is him, like, after two days – ”

“It’s a children’s book,” said Alice. “It’s not _evidence_.” She pushed her glasses up. “I’m pretty sure that something like this, it’s most likely one of the class of spells that operates through your will.”

“Conscious or unconscious?” said Eliot. “The will, I mean.”

“This is old magic,” said Alice. “I don’t know what the difference would be.”

“You said he’s behaving weird, right?” said Penny.

“ _Oh_ yeah,” said Margo.

“Loss of self,” said Alice. “Loss of – the usual human constraints, you know. It’s a, umm, possible side-effect of magic that changes something fundamental about you, for a lengthy time.”

“How long a time?” said Eliot.

“I don’t know,” said Alice. “A – a few days, maybe? Remember when we were all geese? It would be a little like that. Though animal transformations can mitigate the side-effects, because you can’t really _think_ about what’s happening while it’s happening.”

Eliot was about to point out that maybe they could skip the magical theory lesson, when there was a tremendous crash from across the room. All the bottles lined on the bar had swept off it, smashing into the ground, or in a couple of cases, off the walls. Glass tinkled to the ground.

“Well, shit,” said Penny.

“I _told_ you not to tell them!” Quentin shouted.

"They’re here to help!” Eliot said. “Also, invisibly listening in on conversations: rude.”

The wine-glass flew out of Eliot’s hands and shattered in mid-air, spattering them, and especially him, with wine. Eliot narrowed his eyes at it. That had been just, but really only just, at a safe distance. 

Kady got to her feet. “That was battle magic,” she said, dangerously.  She started to move into a fighting stance, hands already shaping.

“Woah,” said Eliot, scrambling up too and putting out a hand to stop her. “Hold it. Let’s not – _escalate_ things – ”

The fairy lights ripped themselves off the wall and floated through the air, in a vaguely menacing way. Eliot glared at them. If Quentin was going to wrap him up in fairy lights he’d fucking escalate things himself. Alice had jumped to her feet, too.

“Quentin, listen to us!” she said. “You need to – ”

A pile of plates and cutlery that someone had left on the table rose in the air and fired themselves at Alice, who fended them off. Kady shot a bolt at one of them and it promptly burst into flames and exploded, showering fragments of china everywhere. The fairy lights headed for her.

“Not helping,” said Eliot between his teeth. He raised his voice. “Quentin! Listen to _me_. Stop fucking about or I’m going to talk through my feelings about this evening’s events right now in front of the assembled masses.”  He crossed his arms. “I feel the need to share coming on.”

The fairy lights and remaining plates fell to the ground, clattering, several smashing into bits.

“What events?” said Alice.

“Margo,” said Eliot. He kept his eyes fixed on the part of the room where he was almost certain that Quentin was standing.

“Everyone out,” said Margo. “Eliot and Quentin need to have a little – heart-to-heart. There’s a bottle of tequila in my room, I’ll host.”

The sheer force of Margo’s will, as usual, worked wonders: she began herding them upstairs and they went, even though Kady was still glaring murderously around the room, and Alice was frowning in the way that meant her giant brain was processing things very fast. Eliot hoped Margo got some tequila into her before she reached the right conclusion.

“Good fucking luck, man,” said Penny, shaking his head as he passed.

**

Eliot waited until they were out of earshot, and then relaxed slightly. He sat back on the sofa.

“Very impressive,” he said. “You made your point. Now come over here, sit, talk.” He gestured towards the other end of the sofa. “And don’t even think about running away. Again. You owe me.”

He could trace Quentin walking across the room by the crunch of broken crockery, and he felt the displacement of air and saw a depression in the sofa, as he sat where Eliot had indicated. He moved over, carefully, and then reached out until he touched something, a knee, he thought, Quentin was curled up at the end of the sofa, awkwardly. He flinched away slightly from Eliot’s touch, and Eliot grimaced. He moved a little closer, ran a hand carefully down Quentin’s arm, and then took hold of his hand, gently. It was tense but unresponsive. Quentin had touched him with this hand, those fingers had been inside him – he wanted to suck them – but. Maybe later.

He sighed. “Q. I’m – we’re – very concerned. Do you really want this? To be – like this?”

Quentin tried to tug his hand out of Eliot’s grasp, but Eliot held on.

“Can you talk?” he said. What if Quentin _couldn’t_ talk? That would make this plan a lot trickier.

“Of course I can _talk_ ,” said Quentin, lower and hoarser than his usual tone.

“Good,” said Eliot. “So tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

“You’re not my fucking therapist,” said Quentin. “Why are you even here, talking to me, after what I did to you – ”

Eliot raised his eyes to the heavens. “Did I look like I objected?” he said. “Of course, I _did_ object to you fucking off, but mostly because I had some further plans for you.”

“You – ” said Quentin, trying to twist away again.

“Q. Whatever’s been going on with Alice, it’s not good. You need to work that out on your own, without her, and I’d apologize a lot and then stay at least ten feet away from her for the next few weeks if I were you. Whatever’s going on with you and me, I’ve got no fucking idea. But if you want to fuck me again, any time, is what I’m saying, and I mean it.”

Quentin’s breathing was agitated. “I’ve never – I’m not usually like that. Like _this_.”

“No,” said Eliot. He resisted adding, more’s the pity. “I can’t imagine what this is like for you, Q.”

“You were right,” said Quentin. “I don’t know how to make this stop. I went back to the library just now after – after - and that fucking door wasn’t there, there isn’t a portal _anywhere_. I thought Fillory was – something good – and it’s fucking _abandoned_ me like this. I’m such a fucking idiot, I thought this would be cool, but Alice wouldn’t even talk to me, and I’m going to get _expelled_ and I could get _stuck_ like this outside Brakebills, and – ”

“It’s OK – ”

“No, it’s _not_ OK,” said Quentin. “You want to know what I feel? I’m really angry, I’ve been angry all day, and I feel like I could just – hurt someone. Like Alice. Or you.”

“But you didn’t,” said Eliot. “You haven’t hurt any of us. Because I don’t think you really want to. And I’m not unfamiliar with angry sex, by the way. It has _distinct_ advantages.” He drew in a deep breath.

“You don’t need Fillory to get out of this,” he said. “I know this sounds embarrassingly cheesy and literal, but I think you have to want to be seen. You can just – visualize yourself visible, or whatever.”

Quentin made a noise of frustration.

“How about,” said Eliot. He licked his lips. “How about I say that, I’m genuinely feeling desperate to suck your cock, and I’ll only do it if I can see what you look like when you’re coming in my mouth?”

“Jesus, El,” said Quentin. Eliot felt a lift of hope: Quentin sounded far more like himself. “You always say such – “

“Charming things?” said Eliot. “And I always mean them, which I think you may be missing.”

“It’s mostly,” said Quentin. “Alice – she’s so – I love her, I really do but I don’t _get_ her, everything’s so difficult all the time, and I keep hurting her, and I just, I don’t understand _why_.”

There were a number of things Eliot would have liked to say to this, but they wouldn’t have helped.

“So take some time,” he said instead. “See what happens. I think you and Alice are at the very least on a break right now. Maybe you’ll get back together, maybe you won’t.” Not if he had anything to do with it, anyway. “And I feel compelled to point out that earlier this evening you were so far inside me that I could feel it in my _teeth_. That might suggest – a certain ambiguity about your monogamous heterosexual relationship.”

“Oh, God,” said Quentin. “Alice is going to kill me.”

“No, she won’t,” said Eliot. “Because, a. you two split up and, b. even if she’s furious, she’ll still be so relieved to see your stupidly charming face again that she won’t care.”

There was a long, hopefully thoughtful, silence. Eliot waited. Then Quentin’s fingers curled round his. He blinked.

“I would, speaking personally, really like to see you,” he said, low. “I _miss_ seeing you.”

Quentin’s hand gripped his. “Earlier. You looked, umm. Really good. I know I’m a, a total fuck-up, and I’m sorry I  - ”

“Aren’t we all?” said Eliot. “Everyone wants to set things on fire sometimes. Everyone wants to punch something. Everyone wants to – throw caution to the winds and fuck the person they’ve been lusting after all semester. At least I hope that’s what you might have been doing. I certainly was.”

He wished he could look into Quentin’s eyes. He could hear him breathing.

“Besides, I actually like you, Quentin Coldwater,” he said.

“Yeah?” said Quentin.

Eliot was looking at his hand, holding Quentin’s. He was almost sure he could see something translucent, slowly solidifying. He ran his thumb over Quentin’s wrist and – there, he could see it, it was firming up under his touch. He let go, to run his hand up to Quentin’s shoulder, to close the distance between them and cup his face in his hands, smoothing a hand over his hair, brushing his eyelashes. He bent forward and kissed Quentin, gently. Then he drew back. Quentin blinked at him, nervously, slowly coming into focus, his eyes clear.

“Hi,” said Eliot, and kissed him again.

**

Some considerable time later, just as Eliot was thinking about taking things off the sofa and upstairs before anyone else showed up, he heard a particularly Margo sigh from the stairs.

He struggled up on one elbow and looked at her.

“Well, I see you boys sorted things out,” she said. “Isn’t it boring when they all turn out to be fucking sex spells? Hi, Quentin.”

Quentin, underneath Eliot, mumbled something.

“I came down to say that Alice went off to her room, and that Penny and Kady drank almost all the tequila,” Margo said to Eliot. “I’ve invited them to stay. I was going to see if you wanted to join us, but I take it you’re otherwise occupied.”

“Interested?” Eliot said to Quentin, mostly for the pleasure of watching Quentin’s face scrunch up in horror.

“We’ll pass,” he said to Margo. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Naturally,” said Margo. She looked them over unashamedly before heading back up.

“Penny _and_ Kady?” said Quentin. “Would you really?”

Eliot shrugged. He shifted to re-align himself, moving his hips against Quentin’s. Quentin arched up under him: it felt amazing. “Sure,” he said. “They’re both hot.”

Quentin was frowning at him, adorably, even while his breath caught. It gave him tiny lines at the corner of his eyes; Eliot stroked them with a finger.

“And so are you,” he said. “Besides turning out to be implausibly good in bed.”

Quentin was still frowning. “I have fucked other people,” he said. He gripped Eliot’s hips and did something that was kind of like, gyrating or something, anyway, it was extremely good. Eliot bit his lip, concentrating.

“Did you think I was, like, jerking off in my lonely dorm room…”

“…over your first editions? I take the fifth,” said Eliot, slightly breathless. “God, I can’t believe we passed on the opportunity for a whole year of invisible sex hijinks, though. Think of the possibilities for class. Do you think you can maybe – turn it on and off?”

“Another couple of weeks and I genuinely would have burned this place down,” said Quentin, suddenly serious. His eyes met Eliot’s.

“Not if I stopped you,” said Eliot. “Come on, let’s go to my room, I need to get you you naked and check out every inch of you. Slowly.”

Quentin looked at him, as if he could see right through him. “Yes,” he said.

  

**Author's Note:**

> This giant lizard that grants invisibility is in the books, but only in passing. It's not implausible, it's _canon_ :)


End file.
